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be mistress of Ellangowan Castle and your paternal state—had you listened to my—

Lucy. Sir, I understand your meaning, and will save yon the pain of speaking it more explicitly. When you formerly addressed the daughter of your patron, then with all tho advantages of high hirth and supposed fortune, I rejected your intrusion, but it was without reproving your audacity; but, sir, when you insult the poverty of the daughter of Ellangowan, by inviting her to share the spoils of her own house, so dishonestly acquired, she turns from you with loathing and contempt!

Dom. Prodigious!

Glo. (Fiereely.) Come, come, madam, you may repent this!

Dom. (Who has by degrees bpcome agitated, comes fiervely up.) Avoid thee, thou evil one! thou hast slain and taken possession—

Glo. Come, Mr. Dominie Sampson, we'll have no preaching here.

Lucy. Mrs. M'Candlish, is this intrusion on an unprotected female

Col. (Coming suddesly up between Glossin and Lucy.) Not uuprotected, Miss Bertram, while the obliged and grateful friend of Sir Godfrey, your father, can defend you! (To Olossin.) Sir, your company is unpleasant—your absence desired. There's the door, and you will ohiige particularly by leaving the room this instant

Glo. (In a bullying tone.) I don't know who yon are, sir—but I know the law, and I know I can split a pistol-bullet against a pen-knife, and I shall suffer no man to use such damned freedom with me.

Col. (Coming close vp to him.) Look you, Mr. Glossin; it will avail you nothing here, to act either the rogne or the ruffian, the bully, or the attorney;—that you do not know me matters not; I know you, and if you do not instantly descend those stairs, by the heaven above us, you shall take but one step from the top to the bottom.

Dom. Prodigious!

Glo. (Retiring.)' I—I-I don't choose to brawl here, sir, sir, before a lady, but you shall hear more of me, sir.

Col. When I do, sir, I shall treat the information as it deserves.

Mrs. MlC. This way, Mr. Glossin, if you please; I'll attend you, sir. I never showed any one down stairs with greater pleasure in all my life.

[Exeunt Mr± MlCandlish and Glossin.

Dom. Jubllate! the evil one is discomfited and fied!—Juhilate!

Col. I beg pardon, Miss Bertram; my temper is naturally impetuous, and I have alarmed you: hear my apology at once. Though personally unknown to you, you, perhaps, have heard the name of Mannering—-Guy Mannering.

(Dominie Sampson comes forward.)

Lucy. I think I have heard my father mention it, sir; but, at this moment —

Col. Hear me, then, briefiy.—The son of an ancient family, I came at fourteen years old, with my widowed mother, to your northern capital. We were distressed then, as you are now; a circumstance drew on me the notice of your father,—he became our friend and his interest procured me a military appointment in India, where I have been successful beyond my wishes. Paternal estates, also, have since opened to me in England—but my attachment was here. I wrote to a friend, to purchase property in this neighbourhood, and learned, on my landing in Britain, I was proprietor of Woodburne,—Surmises of distress in Sir Godfrey't

family also reached me, and I hurried down to pay my debt of gratitude. I came, alas! too late to offer it to my generous benefactor; let me have the satisfaction of finding I may be useful to his daughter.

Dom. I have scanned him well, and believe him to be the very Guy Mannering who was the inmate of your father's house some sixteen years ago. And for his military propensities I will avouch, inasmuch as he was wont to put guupowder into my tobacco-pipe, and amuse himself with the explosion thereof.

Lucy. Colonel Mannering, your generosity, and still more, your affection for my dear fathtr, entitle you to my kindest thanks,— I will add, my confidence,—but distress must excuse caution, and

Col. I Will presume no farther; my sister, whose carriage I have outrode by nearly an hour, will soon be here, and to her intercession I shall leave my suit.

Dom. I do myself prefer the eqnestrian to the vehicular mode of conveyance, but, to S"tv sooth, I am much accustomed unto the pedestri; n,

Lucy. Colonel Mannering then will exc; as no for the present, nor think that my hesitation arises from anything, but a wish that the acceptance of his friendship should be as proper as the offer is kind. [Exit.

Col. Mr. Sampson, you must forgive me my boyish tricks; I did not know the worth I teased. I was then a spoilt urchin—spoilt by your patron and mine: but fortune has cured me.

Dom. And fortune, sir, (as the heathens call her —l should rather say Providence,) has been kinder to me; for, for thirty years, I have never had to seek a home or a table, until this present moment of time.

Col. And you never shall have to seek either, Mr Sampson, it you will accept the shelter of my roof. Your learning and patience will bring a blessing with them

Dom. Of learning, sir, it doth not become me to speak,—albeit, I know most ancient and modern tongnes. And of patience I have had but little exercise, since five-and-thirty years ago, when I was boarded for twenty pence a week at Luckie Sour-kails in the High-street of St Andrew's. And there, though I hungered somewhat, I was nothing a-thirst, being near the principal fountain or pump of that town, so that I might drink daily, and no one say, Sampson, thou exceedest in thy potations. But hath your honour no son, whom I might train up in polite letter?, and elegant accomplishments, as a requital for my daily bread?

Col. I have only a sister, Mr. Sampson, about ten years younger than myself; how far she may profit by your instructions—

Dom. (Assuming great ceafidenve.) She may-she will—she shall! I will teach her the Hebrew language—or I should rather say, the Chaldaic, since your honour is aware that the generic Hebrew hath been lost from the time the ten tribes were led into captivity by Tigleth Peleazer.

Col. I believe, sir, you will have an instant opportunity of consulting her own taste upon the matter, for here she comos.

Enttr JULIA MANNERING, dressed in a fashionable travelling hahit.

Julia. (Running immediately up to Colonel Mannering.) My dear brother, how fast you must have ridden.

Col. Rather, how slowly you must have followed, my dear sister;—but I am glad you are here, for I need your assistance most particularly and immediately.

Julia. Well, well, you shall have it, but don't be impatient! I must attend to my own affairs first

Where's the landlady?


Mrs. M'C. (Curtseying low.) Here, my lady, at your service.

Julia. Oh! do me the favour to tell me if there be a joung woman here, who has enquired after Miss Mannering.

Mrs. M'C. (Presenting Flora.) This is the^person, I believe, my lady.

Col. Landlady, let me speak a word with you.

Mrs. MlC. Directly, your honour. (SJie goes to the Colonel, and after reveiving his directions, goes off.Dominie, during the convertion of Julia with Flora, circles round Julia, as if about to address her, with lharactiristic formality and awkwardness—he starts back when sh*. looks, which she does with some surprise, as if amused at his strange figure.

Julia. (To Flora.) You served a young lady of this country, I am told.

Flora. Yes, ma'am.

[Curtsies at the seeeral breaks in Julia's spfech.

Julia. A Miss—Miss—Miss Bertram, I think; I never heard the name before.

Dovi. Prodigious!

Julia. However, I understand she's an excellent young lady, and her character of you is quite satisfactory. (Sampson seems pleased.) I believe Miss Bertram dressed her own hair ?—That won't quite suit me. I shall wish you to study a little under my brother's valet de chambre; that you may be able to arrange my hair a-la-Uhinois, to dispose my aigrette, and circassian turban, so as to throw l'air imposant over my figure.

Dom. t(Shaking his head.) This is harder that Chaldaic—yea—than Hebrew;—Tigleth Peleazer himself would have been puzzled at it. I duhitate whether this damsel will fructify by my learned endeavours.

He-enter MRS. M'CANDLISH, showing in LUCY BERTRAM, whom the Colonel instantly presents to

Col. Julia, let me solicit your sisterly intercession with this young lady, the daughter of Sir Godfrey Bertram, the friend by whom your brother's fortunes were entirely promoted, and for whose tecent loss, I grieve to say, she now suffers. It is my wish she should honour Woodburne with her presence, and find in it a retreat suited to her present feellugs. Miss Bertram, let me introduce to your friendship a soldier's sister-rather a hairbrained girl, but well-deserving the kindest regards, I assure you.

[Th*y retire up and converseDominie listens to their discourse.

Mrs. MlC. (Coming forward.) I'm as glad as if any one had ordered a rump and dozen, or the commissioners bespoke a county dinner. I hope they may persuade Miss Bertram—who knows what may happen if they do ?—The great Colonel Mannering, with sacks full of diamonds, from the India wars, and who was loved by her father tool —If it should happen, there'll be fine doings in the Gordon Arms that day, I'll warrant.

Dom, (Jumping forward from the party.) She will

consent to go to the mansion of the great man o battle!— Exultdmus! Venite! Exultemns!—I will rejoice—I will uplift a stave of joy—yea, I will sing! I do remember me of a catch, which I was wont to sing twice a-year, when a bursar of St Leonard's College, St Andrew's, with good appro-ba-ti-en. (He makes many contortions and efforts, lite one who first foryets word then turn, at length breaks out tctih absurd bashfulness, at which 'hey laugh.)

"The fox jump'd over the parson's gate. Fal la loo I fo lero, le.ro loo !'" Bear with me. my friends; it is but seldom I am thus jocose. I will again essay, and with more aodacity, for my own voice did somewhat abash me'. —(Hinging.)

"The fox jump'd over—"

Verily, I need support Worthy Mrs. M'CandIish sing with me. Mis.MC. I!

Dom. Yes; cantate with me.

Mrs. WC, Heaven help you! I never sung in al! my life!—But there's two of our honest neighbours in the next room, who hate Glossin, and all such oppressors, will be glad enough to cantitate with you, I warrant

Dom. Then announce the gladsome tidings them, and hid them hither. [Exit Mrs. MlC In the meantime will I preludize.


Enter two Neighbours during the symphony. Dom. "The fox jump'd over the parson's gate,

Antlstole his poultry from under his nose 'Ahaf quoth the parson, who popp'd out hts


A good fat hen, and away site goes!" Julia. [Leading Lucy forward.]

Calm, lady! calm your troubled breast!

Btneath our roof of friendship rest;

TJiere say what most may sootlie your woes Dom. "t1 good fat hen and away she goes!"

Lucy. Friendship, thou can'st balm impart
To the wounded, suffering heart!

A mourner, to thy generous roof I fly I
And, then, should.silent tears intrude.
The gleam of glistening gratitude,

Shall light the pendent drops in sorrow's eye.


Julia. Away with old care, let tlie dullard go drown. Mirth and pleasure, life's short, rosy momentt

should crown. For what gain or what good e'er from sovi et arose.

Dom. "A good fat lien, and away she goes I"

Chorus. Let's rejoiee!

Dom. It doth beseem us!

Chorus. Let's be jovial!

Dom. Exultemns!

Chorus. Henve, ye sordid and litigious I
Henve, oppression, henee,

Dom Prodigious!

[Sxemt ACT ir.

Boudoir, in the house at Wood

SCENE L—Julia'

burne—a door, another, leading into Julia's apart metitlarge folding doors, through which is seen the library—Venetian windows, opening on a balcony, with steps leading to the lake beneinh. The ^noonlight gleaming vpon it, with strong, clear and, distinct illumination the apartment is decorated with Indian curiosities, horns, skins of tigers, &c., dresses of Indian tribeabook-stands—dressing and icork tables three chairs four lights on the table a harp, &c.


Julia. Upon my word, brother, it is quite time to send yon about your business. Formerly, I had to beg for your society. I admit there was little temptation in those days.

Col. Pardon, Julia; but now you will allow it is doubled.

Julia. Aye, as you double a cypher, by placing a figure before it, and render its valne tenfold.

(Points to Lucy.)

Col. Julia, pray prevail upon Miss Bertram to ting that lovely air she was beginning when the servant interrupted us—it was a most beautiful thing! wild, yet so pathetic.

Lucy. It has borrowed its tone of feeling, Colonel Mannering, from the situation of the singer. It is said, from a very ancient period to have been sung in our family to soothe the slumbers of the infant heir.

Julia. Oh! pray sing it.

Lucy. It is not worth refusing.

Oh! slumber, my darling,

Thy sire is a knight;
Thy mother a lady.

So lovely and bright.
The hills and the clules,

From the towers which we seet
Theft all thall belong,

ily dear infant, to tine.

Oh I rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, sleep on till day I Oh! rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, sleep while you may.

Oh! rest thee, my darling,

The time it shall come,
When thy sleep shall be broken

By trumpet and drum.
The}}, t est thee, my darling.

Oh t sleep whiU you may;
For war comes with manhood,

As light comes with duy.

Oh! rest thee, bale, &c.

Juliae And was this really made fur your own family?

Lucy. Oh, yes,—and a hundred more such ditties. While my only brother, little Harry, was spared to my parents, it was sung to him every night, by an old gipsy nurse; and I have beard, though so young, be could sing it quite well. There is not a milk-maid on the estate once ours, but can chaunt it, and knows its history; and, I have beard— though it hardly deserves mentioning — that the person now in possession,—this Ulossin, has, as far as he ean, forbid them to sing it, which makes It doubly a favourite with me.

Col. That'B not surprising; music and poetry were never made for so base-born and wretched a


Julia. And, brother, they are not made for you neither, high-born and chivalrous as you are, after twelve o'elock at night, in a quiet house in the country.

Col. i obey your hint. Good night, Julia! (Salutes her with kindness and familiarity, then turns to Lucy very respeclfully.) That every morning may bring Miss Bertram nearer to the restoration of all her heart can hope, is my most earnest prayer, and shall be the object of my most zealous exertion.


Julia. A lion in the toils! Oh, Lucy! dear Lucy! if you knew what meshes have been spread for that proud Colonel in vain.

Lucy. Good night, Miss Mannering; and.if I do not chide you for these speeches, it is because your kindness always atones for your—your —

Julia. For my folly, eh? Well, well, sleep and dream of gallant knights vanquishing wicked robbers, and restoring forlorn damsels to their rightful homes—

Lucy. Goodnight! good night I [Exit. Enter FLORA.

Julia. She is a charming girl! But, how can she remember all the names of her ancestors—these Rolands, and Mac-Dingawaies, and Donagilds— (Seeing Flora.) Oh, Flora! did my old servant, Grace, whom my brother sent back to the house in London, say nothing to you, before she went away?

Flora, Oh, yes, ma'am; (Significantly.) she told me your ladtsh)p might have some occasion for my scrvisew in a very confidential way; that there was a gentleman, of whose addcesses Colonel Waunnering disapproved rather, ma'am.

Julia. But she should have added also, that my brother could find no possible objection to him, but, in his own prejudices against a man of unknown blrth, who could bring no Mac Dingawaies nor Donagilds to back his suit Now, though I cannot sympathise in such prejudices, I have, since the unhappy dnel between them, in which my lover was wounded, endeavoured to avoid all communication with him; yet, I fear, he is at this moment perhaps too near me.

Flora. What, here, madam?

Julia. Twice have I heard about this hour on the lake a fiute, playing an Indian air, which, in happier hours, we used to sing together.

Flora. Ay, madam, it's he, I warrant; no one but a lover, or a madman, would come fiuting on a lake, at moonlight, in a cold winter-night (A flute heard playing without) Hark, madam! as 1 live, I think I hear it now!

Julia. Hush! (-4 flute is heard to play the symphony of an Indian air, under the window.) Is it earthly music?—I'm in the land of superstition,and begin to share its infinence, I think.

Flora. Wait a little, ma'am; you'll find the fiuting gentleman no ghost, I warrant

Julia. It is, indeed, tho very air he taught me; I'll sing it - if it should be he, he will answer it


Oh, tell me, love, the dearest hour

The parted anxious lover knows,
When passion, with enchanter's pow'r

Across his faithful memory throw*
Its s flest brightest flame.

Bertram. (Without.) 'Til when he sings on some lone shore, Where echo's vocal spirits throng; Whose aery voiees, o'er and o'er. On still and moonlight lake prolong One dear-loved, thrilling name.

Enter HENRY BERTRAM, rushing up (he balcony steps, from the lake. Ber. Julia! beloved Julia!

Julia. 'Tis he himself! Begone! begone! What will this end in? (Turns away from him.

Flora. A ring, a parson, and a cradle; I warrant, ma'am. [Retires.

Ber. Will you refuse me even the privilege of a friend, Julia?

Julia. You deserve not the name. Thus to seek a stolen interview, which I am forced to endure, because my giving any alarm would again involve you in a quarrel with my brother, and bring your life once more in danger.

Ber. Do you then blame me, Julia, for what was forced upon me by his caprice, his injustice? Oh, let me now enforce you to fulfil the hopes you once gave me, and trust to time to reconcile your proud brother I


Be mine, dear maid, my faithful htart

Can neeer prove untrue;
'Twer• easier far from life to part,

Than eease to live with y-u.
My soul, gone forth from this tone breast.

Lives only, love, in thine;
Thece is its holy home of rest,
Its dear, il i chosen shrine.

Then turn thee not awau, my dear,

Oh! t' rn thee not away loe,
F- r hy the light of truth, I swear
To love thee night and day, lo-e.

'Tis not mine eye thy beauty loves,

Mine ear thy tuneful voiee,
B tt 'tis my heart thy heart appi orei,

.-1 life-enduring choive.
The lark shall first forget to sing,

When morn unfolds the east,
E'er I by change or coldness wring

Thy fond con fiding breast.

Then turn thee not away, d'c.

[A heavy lumbering noise heard without in the library.

Julia. (Alarmed.) What noise is that?

Flora. (Looking out.) Only Mr. Sampson, madam, stumbling up and down the libraty. Never mind the good soul; with him, even seeing is not believing.

Julia. For heaven's sake, sir, begone the way you came!

Flora. Ay, do—here, here, sir.

Ber. (Running to the balcony.) I cannot, my boat is in possession of your brother's servants.

Julia. To what difficulty has your folly reduced me?

Flora. (Watching.) Mr. Sampson has blundered this way, sure enough.

[DOMINIE SAMPSON is sew through the library, in his night gown and cap, wit-h a long candlestick in his hand.

gentleman put on one of those outlandish Indiazi dresses, and squat down behind the harp: Mr. Sampson won't notice him, and if he does, 1*1 me alone.

Ber. Nay, if I cannot play aBrahmim after being so many years in India, it's very hard.

\.They assist to dress him, and conzeal him behind the harp.

Julia. But how shall we account for his being here, if he is discovered?

Flora. Ma'am, we most take our cne from circumstances.

Enter DOMINIE SAMPSON from the libra**, with a light in his hand. Dom. Of a verity, this is not the way to mine own apartment, neither; nay, it doth seem thai of a lady.

Flora, (Whispering.) There, ma'am, did I not say he would not see us?

Dom. I would I had the clne of Ariadne, for this dwelling is a Cretan labyrinth. I will again essay to extricate myself. (He walks forward.Flora advanees, whom he does not see till close to her.) Prodigious!

Flora. Why, who would have thought this of you. Mr. Sampson, to be prying about so very near my young lady's dressing-room, at this time of night. I assure you I take it very strange of you! Dom. I was erratic, Mistress Flora. Flora. Never mistress me, man! but get away as fast as you can; lord only knows what Colonel Mannering will say,1f he should know of it!

Dom. And that might, perchance, prejudice my young mistress, Miss Bertram, in his opinion. Woeful man that I am I who shall deliver me? Flora. Pray go immediately, Mr. Sampson. Dom. I obey—I will begone swiftly—1 am beset with fears and trepidations.

(Goes towards the door of Julias bed-roomFlora. (Running after him and pulling him back.) Worse and worse, Mr. Sampson! that's not yout way. Would you burst into my young lady's bedroom? Indeed, Mr. Dominie, I begin to suspei:I you. Is that the way you propose to teach het Hebrew? Oh. fie! fie! fie!

Dom. Prodigious!—I am confounded! (Pet-pin,: in.) Assuredly, there is a four-post bed, with crimson furniture. I will gird up my loins and fiee. (He struggles out of Flora's grasp, stumb es for' tcard, and overturns the harp, upon which he falls—as he rises he sees Bertram, and stares at him with great surpriseBertram retains his cross-legged position of an Indian priest, and stares at him again with great composure.) Mirifice! whom have we here?

Flora. Why, Mr. Sampson, what mischief will you do next? that you should disturb that learned Indian gentleman, just when he was occupied in teaching my young mistress the—the—the—(Ande.) what shall I say? Dear, dear, where shall I find a word?

Dom- Is he a teacher? then I reverence him. Ic what is he profound? Flora, Astrology.

Dom. Prodigious! Nay, then, I will uplift my voice against him. (Loudly.) The occult scim are a snare of the enemy! —delusions of darkness! —works of the wicked one!

Julia. (Aside.) I must stop his clamoursl (Aloud) Nay, Mr. Sampson, I see no more harm in the learned gentleman teaching me the Sanscrit, tha& in your proposal to teach me Hebrew. Dom. Pardon mo, most honourable; I knew not a a learned Pundit, who, douhtless, is hetter I svided. Nevertheless, I will accost him in tho 1 stern tonjrne. (To Bertram.) Salam alicum! ertram rises andsalams, which salutation is returned liculously hy Dominie.) Expound unto me, most irued Pundit, whether we shall confer in the uscrit of Bengali, in the Telinga, or in the Malaya nguage? Praise to the hlessing of heaven, on my ,or endeavours, I am indifferently skilled in these ree tongues.

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Ber. (Aside.) Confound yonr skill!—I am aground I know only a few words of the Moorish gihherish.

(A knocking heard at the door. Julia. Flora, there's my hrother knocking. Flora. (To Bertram) Follow me down the hack airs, most learned Pundit (Apart to Julia, as she tsses her.) Face down the Dominie when your rother comes in, that there was nohody here, ra'am; I'll return directly.

[Exit, with Bertram. Dom. 'Where has the damsel conveyed the learned undit? I would converse with him. Julia. Come in, hrother!

Re-enter COLONEL MANNEBING, at the door.

Col. What has heen the matter? I heard a heavy all in your room—no accident I hope?

Julia You heard Mr. Sampson, hrother, who has hosen this strange time of night to rummage out he Indian manuscripts in these cahinets, and has -tumhled over my harp.

Col. How's this, Mr. Sampson? You should take 'ther time and place for your oriental stndies, than So close to my sister's dressing-room at midnight.

Dom. Honoured sir! I crave your forgiveness; I vandered unwittingly, and was detained hy my hirst of learning. That erndite Moonshee, whom i songht to converse withal

Julia. (Alarmed, and fetching a hook from the tahle.) This is the hook you songht, I helieve, sir.

Dom. (Opening a fine illuminated manuscript.) Prodigious! I profess it is an exemplar of the Shah-Nameh of the illustrious Ferdusi! (Putting it under his arm.) But, touching that Sancrit interpreter, whom—

Re-enter FLOEA. Julia. Indian Interpreter, sir I here it is in three volumes, folio.

(Pushes them to Sampson.

Flora. (Apart to Julia, while Sampson examines the hooks.) I have sent your Pundit safe off, and told him to wait at the village till further advice.

Julia. (Apart to Flora.) Thank heaven for that! But how shall we get safe from the Dominie? he'll talk of nothing else.

Dom. I profess this is a most erndite work, and of great scarcity I I have ohserved it, honoured Colonel, noted in catalogues with four B's, which denoteth " raris-simus." But, worthy sir, as concerning this learned Pundit—

Flora. Is this the hook, sir?

Dom. It is rare;—hut the Ulemat—

Julla. Or this, sir?

Dom. It is precious!—hut the aforesaid Brahmin—
Flora. Oh, 'tis this, I'm sure.
Dom. It is of the last rarity!—hut the Moonshee—
Iulia. Or this—

Dom. It is curious—hut the Moonshee—the Pundit—the—

[Thty thrust hooks upon him, which he cannot refuse himself the pleasure of opening, until his hands and arms hecome emharrassed, and he hegins to let them fall, one or two always escaping, as he picks '-'p the others.

Col. Come, Mr. Sampson, I fancy you had hetter retire, and what hooks you wish for shall he hronght you. Barnes!

En^er BAENES. Light Mr. Sampson to his room. (Sampson gathers up what hooks he can carry.) And, hark ye, when you have showed him in, lock the door. I must take precautions against this extravagant thirst for information.

Barnes. This way, Mr. Sampson, if you please to follow.

Dom. I pwe, Sequar! Prodigious I

[As he is going off, loaded with hooks, he drops them all, exclaiming, "Prodigious !"— Exit, following Barnes, at the door. Col. Once more, Julia, good night

[Exit, at the door. Julia. Good night, and thanks for this narrow escape. Go to my chamher, Flora; I'll follow directly.

Flora. Yes, ma'am, [Exit at the door.

Julia. I declare, I am frightened at my own imprndence. Should my hrother discover this husiness, what will he the consequence? Oh, dear! I wish he would hut sympathise a litele more with love, and a little less with honour; hut, alas!—


In ancient times, in Britain's isle,

Lord Henry well was knowa;
No knight in all the lasdmore famed,

Or more deserved renowa.
His heart was all on honour hent,

He ne'er could stoop to love,
Ko lady in the land hadpower

His frozen heart to move.

Yet, in that hosom, deem'd so stern^

7'he kindest feelings dwelt;
Her tender tale, when pity told.

It neeer fail d to melt
But. for no idlepass'on form'd,

His high heroic mood,
Glory's suhlimer charms alone

With lover's ardour woo'd. [Exit.

SCENE H.—A desolate Heath hetween Woodhurne and Kippletringan.The moon declining.

Enter HENEY BEETEAM, hewildered and uncertain of his way.

Ber. Now, the devil take all glih-tongued ladies' maids! would any one have thonght to hear that chattering monkey, that I'd more to do than just to follow my nose straight across the heath, to this Kip-Kap-Kapple—what the devil did she call the place? And here I am, fairly thrown out. The moon's going down, too, ana I may stray further out of my way. (Shouting.) Holloa! I wish sorne one was within hail, friend or foe, I care not


Enter DANDIE DINMONT, a little tipsy. Din. (Coming forward, and staggering.) Fair and softly, Dandie, my lad! Who was that holloaing, I wonder? I should like to fall in with a companion, for it's growing confounded dark—I'll ho hanged if I can see my way. I wish I had got Dumpling; many people pretend to guide their horse,—now I always let my horse guide me—he'd have carried me to the next ale house, right enongh, dark or light Steady, my head's a little queerish. To think that three poor hottles of ram should have done this now, among four! (Bertram advances.) Who goes there? [He raises his whip.

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